


Sorrow On Tongue

by CaptainTarthister



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Angst, Blow Jobs, Camping, Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Masturbation, Neck Kissing, Nipple Licking, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-LSH, Rough Kissing, Scars, Smut, Survival, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:08:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23433682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainTarthister/pseuds/CaptainTarthister
Summary: Going onward in their journey, Jaime contemplates the vows he and Brienne had to break in killing Lady Stoneheart. Does honor only lie in the fulfillment of vows? What good is honor when each night Brienne plunges in another nightmare of their encounter, he thinks of gifting her the kindness of a sword?
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 22
Kudos: 165
Collections: A Song Of Ice And Fire and Game Of Thrones, Game Of Thrones Romance, Game of Thrones





	Sorrow On Tongue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [catherineflowers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/catherineflowers/gifts).



> This is the sequel to "Away Together" (https://archiveofourown.org/works/2292871). I never planned to write one. The prompt for the first story was given by catherineflowers to help me get back to writing after a somewhat traumatic event. It gave me the opportunity to deep-dive into Jaime (hahaha) and it's an experiment that's very challenging and interesting. 
> 
> But because the first story got amazing feedback, I thought to see where else the story can take me. So this is where we are. 
> 
> Gifting this catherineflowers because her prompt brought us this and she had a very specific request!

Because there was still daylight following another supper of overcooked rabbit, Jaime retreated behind some trees, only stopping upon finding a grove with branches jostling at each other and the trunks nearly overlapping that he had to slip sideways in between.

Leaves still dotted with rain seemed like emeralds in the graying sunlight. Jaime dropped his head against a trunk, thinking that he was a sick fool to still think of _her_. Instinct rather than need brought his hand to the ties of his breeches, and he sighed as air kissed his warm, stiff cock. Moaning, he grasped himself. Nose and mouth pressed on his golden hand, he tried to summon the scent of lavender through the smells of steel and wet earth surrounding him. He licked his lips, thinking of the taste of cloves on her tongue.

Rubbing foreskin up and down his erection, he closed his eyes.

Something, however, suddenly darkened his light. Frowning, hand still moving, he opened his eyes and saw the wench standing by the river. She was so tall and massive that despite the distance she could block the sun, though it grew fainter at every breath. Scowling, he debated about yelling for her to get out of the way or choosing silence.

 _Gods be cursed._ Was there no respite from her, even for a few stolen moments?

Annoyed as he was, his hand dragged and pushed the foreskin with a slowness that pressed his teeth against the steel.

The wench was looking around, scowling. Her face would send even the most fearsome lion into hiding.

He waited for his name to leave her thick, chapped lips but they pursed, jutting out in a ridiculous pout. The scar on her face deepened with her frown. He wanted to commend her for somehow achieving what should already be impossible: the ugliest woman he’d ever laid eyes on looking much, much uglier in the daylight. Night and candlelight did her no favors, but the sun was particularly cruel.

His strokes on his cock grew measured, slower, yet drew threads of his sweat down the sides of his face the longer he watched her. After she seemed satisfied finding herself alone, she unbuckled her sword belt then began undoing her armor.

Transfixed, holding his cock, Jaime watched her long, scarred fingers loosened the ties and buckles with an efficiency and brusqueness, that, perhaps because they weren’t as ugly as her face, seemed graceful. She turned and walked towards the cluster of trees, close to where he was hiding. He shrank back although he was perfectly concealed. She propped her armor against a tree then sat down. He couldn’t really see her but heard the grunts leaving her lips.

His thumb circled the head of his cock, rubbing the bead of moisture dangling from the tip then spreading it to the rhythm of her breaths and groans, then the thwack of leather hitting the ground. She stood up, putting the boots next to the armor and Oathkeeper.

She loosened her shirt ties next. She pulled it off, but the collar got caught around her cheeks. Her movements caused her pointy little tits to jiggle and sway slightly. Nipples pinker than Cersei’s tightened in the cool air. Oddly plump too, he thought, his mouth watering. He squeezed himself and shut his eyes, mouth falling open to let out a soundless moan.

He should turn away, he thought, opening his eyes. The wench did not deserve to be watched. Not like this.

Free from her shirt, he saw the yellow-edged bruises on her arms and stomach, the old, large scars the bear had left. Her breeches fell at her feet, revealing the now-familiar tangle of thick, dirty-blond hairs gating her cunt and the surprising pinkness of her inner thighs. Eyes resting on her mound, his hand moved faster.

His release hit him like thunderclap. Shock and shame blasted through him, his eyes widening upon realizing his seed was spilling on the roots of the tree and his boots because of _her._ Agony and pleasure swept through him next, pulling a gravelly groan from his throat.

Was it luck and a blessing he’d managed to not cry out? Perhaps there was some benefit to fucking Cersei all these years. But he wished for a mouth to silence him rather than steel. As he caught his breath, his eyes once again drifted back to Brienne.

Six days had passed since he’d shown her how to go away inside. Six very strange, very long days.

He’d touched her only once, that night, yet recalled every detail and feel of her. Her cunt hairs thicker and rougher than he’d expected. Her very slippery channel warmer and wetter than Cersei’s. Her thighs and the bed had been wet too.

When she had shattered from his hand, it had been like witnessing a glorious battle. Wench against maiden. A woman emerging from the clash.

Watching her now nude as her nameday, he saw a roundness in her hips that had been absent from when she’d stood in front of him wet and gleaming in the baths of Harrenhal. Though far from feasts of juicy boar and the juiciest fruits, the wench was far from diminished and weak. Uglier, yes. More scarred. Yet stronger, he thought, seeing the feathery hairs of her long, muscular legs.

He couldn’t say the same for her heart.

She still cried herself to sleep and sometimes woke him up uttering Pod’s or Lady Catelyn’s, whimpering regrets and forgiveness.

Once or twice he’d thought of slapping her awake or sticking his finger in her cunt, so she could sleep through the night. Something stopped him-a wall within, it seemed, that sprang up whenever thoughts of being cruel to the wench danced in his mind. It was one of the things that made these last days stranger than usual.

She dipped a foot in the river before bending to swish a hand through it. He glimpsed the faint splotch of blood below the divide of her ass.

 _Moonblood._ Just as he’d suspected. She had been bleeding for days and tried to hide her discomfort. He had caught her squirming and grimacing on the saddle.

She may never have spread her legs for a horse, but she was usually comfortable riding one.

Her hand danced across the water one more time before she waded in. Jaime watched until she was waist-deep before long arms suddenly rose in an arc. Then she dived in.

The sound of her big body splashing into the water broke through his trance. Grunting, his cheeks burning, he quickly pulled up his breeches and knotted them closed. He staggered out of the trees and towards the shore, tripping and slipping on the slicker ground and some of the rocks. He stood at the river’s edge, next to where her armor and sword lay. Once again his eyes were drawn to the water, to the broad back and thick arms cutting through the surface. Then she bobbed up.

Despite the fading light, he saw the water droplets clinging to the tangled, wheat-colored mess on her head. They shone like tiny diamonds.

 _Diamonds._ What was going on? His lips curled in a sneer, in a manner that mirrored Cersei’s had she been standing right next to him and he’d told her about the water glistening like gems on the wench’s hair. She might slap him too before ordering the guards to have her snatched from the river. She’d fling that careless remark to his face by having the guards butcher the wench until her skin was the crimson of their House, her guts chopped and resembling raw-edged rubies.

 _Cersei._ Her betrayal no longer hurt but there was always a clenching ache in his chest when thinking of her. _Beautiful, deceitful whore._ She wore anger and spite like silks and velvets. Her fury enthralled him like her beauty.

 _The things you do for love._ In songs it meant a hero, golden, glorious and admired. The truth was it had made him close to a monster, and now minus a hand, a grotesque. Just as Cersei was no Maiden, he was no Warrior.

He scooped water to his face, wetted his nape that was suddenly too hot despite the whisper of a cool evening wind. Through the droplets clinging to his eyelashes, he watched the wench float on her back. A long, pale leg rose, also glistening with diamond-like droplets before returning to the water.

It was remarkable. Wrecked face, broken inside in pieces too many to count, yet still an innocent.

He couldn’t help feeling jealous. His own innocence had been ashes long before stabbing Aerys, and perhaps, longer before sinking in the warmth of Cersei’s cunt for the first time. It made him choke knowing that despite all she’d done, there was still a part of him, a foolish, hateful part of him, that still belonged to her. That would still long for her.

Nothing could cleanse nor help him regain his honor—he knew that now. He may have fulfilled his vows to never lift arms or hand against a Tully and Stark, but he didn’t stop Brienne from slicing Catelyn’s head from her body. The creature Brienne had slain was no longer the lady of Winterfell but as the cursed, black light of life left her eyes, she had seemed human again. Her unseeing eyes followed him in dreams sometimes, reminding him of his House’s crimes on hers.

Only a fool would think of fulfilling vows. For all Jaime knew, the Stark girls were dead, their flesh and bones having warmed the bellies of beasts a long time ago. What was good finding them alive in a world such as this? Death was an escape, a kindness in the end, no matter how it had come. Those left behind still breathing only had cruelty awaiting them.

Yet as much as he believed it and finding himself longing for his sword hand to grant Brienne the wish she only whispered in sleep, he had been unable to do it. It should be easy because she slept like dead. She would never feel the first strike of steel on the ridges of her throat.

Those shit vows—the doom of every fool. Nobody sang about that. His foolishness had dragged the wench through a hellish labyrinth, and she’d paid the price with a ravaged face and a broken spirit that withered day by day.

Yet, watching her dive back in the water, with the sun bouncing off the pale, wet globes of her ass, he couldn’t help but still hope. Hope that maybe she wasn’t completely broken. He looked up in the sky, trying to divine the sudden flare of crimson and gold for an answer. The looming darkness of night mocked his effort.

Resigned, tired, burning inside as if fevered, he worked on the laces and buckles of his sword belt, armor. For the first time since his maiming he was quite unbothered by the tedious process. His eyes kept returning to her.

The boots required strength and battle to take off, leaving him sweating and panting when finished. Catching his breath, he took a few moments to gather himself before taking off his shirt and breeches. Then he worked on the blasted golden hand next, removing the protective cloth that protected the stump from chafing and getting cut by the steel. He put it on top of Brienne’s clothes, next to her smallclothes stained with dried blood.

It was getting dark, but the wench remained in the water, the languid and powerful strokes she bestowed on it indicating she would be a while. She wasn’t just here to get clean but to unwind, he realized. Not very surprising, really. They had been riding hard since leaving the inn, stopping only close to sundown to eat and sleep. If she was confused why they were riding farther and farther from the army he’d deserted, she had yet to say something. She just followed and hunted, set up camp. Wept and gasped the names of the dead through the night.

His cock bobbed slightly as he waded through the water. It was cool-nothing like the sun-edged waves of the Sunset Sea. But he sighed upon being soothed, wading deeper and deeper until he could swim.

Because it was growing dark and underwater was naturally murky, he didn’t see the pale columns of the wench’s legs and thighs until nearly smacking his face on her buttocks. For a moment he thought about tugging at her ankle but remembered she came close to drowning him once—and he’d had two hands.

He turned, his foot brushing her calf before his head broke through the surface. As he caught his breath, he felt her annoyed, suspicious eyes on him. Grinning, he rubbed water from his eyes then shook his hair, deliberately splashing her face. She barely flinched but turned away.

He flicked more her way, this time drawing a glare more brilliant than a fistful of sapphires. He chuckled and waded closer. He cocked an eyebrow seeing the shy bob of her tits under the water. Catching where his gaze had dropped, she flushed. Her face was a red beacon in the vanishing light. She backed away, only to find herself pressed against some rocks.

She looked close to murderous. Jaime smiled hugely.

“Why are you here?” She grunted. “What do you want?”

“I wanted a piece of your pleasure, wench,” he drawled. “Besides, the river is big enough for the two of us.”

“Not from where I stand. It’s suddenly too crowded.” She sounded tired rather than angry.

“Need I remind you I lack a hand? So it’s not me taking up what appears to be limited space in your eyes.”

“I should go, ser.”

He rolled his eyes. “Ser? Must we do this again?”

She tried to move to the side, away from him. So he mirrored her, smiling innocently when she shook her head. “You can’t think to leave me alone in the river? In the dark? I need you to pull me out should something happen to me.”

“You’re perfectly capable of getting in. It’s the same effort as getting out.”

“Are you no longer my protector?”

Just as suddenly, night swooped in. But he saw the haunted look return in her eyes right before darkness cloaked her. The stars nothing more than faint glimmers in the sky.

“I-I should go, ser—Jaime.”

“And deprive me of your wit, your wonderfully verbose company? I suppose silence works as well. Forgive me. My addled mind has been conjuring up imaginary conversations because you’ve been exceedingly generous with your gift of silence. Except when instructing me to hobble the horses and gather wood. Do you give me silence because you think I’m incapable of understanding anything else?”

She said nothing. He couldn’t really see her but heard her breathing.

“Does your moonblood bother you?”

_“Ser!”_

He shrugged. “You’ve wiped my shit, I’ve had my fingers inside you, and I can’t ask about that?”

She grunted. He heard her hiss. She must have forgotten about the rocks.

“I saw you sore on the saddle,” he continued, forcing himself to sound at least gentle instead of mocking. “We didn’t have to ride so hard.”

It surprised him that in mere seconds, he’d gone from tormenting her to actually feeling concern. Another strangeness—the longer he was with her, the more there were such occurrences.

“So, are you still bleeding?”

“N-No. No, I don’t think so. But—”

When she didn’t speak for two breaths, he demanded, “What?”

“I-I thought—I never doubted your word about not taking my maidenhead. But the next morning. . .after. . .after you touched me, and I saw the blood I thought—I thought—”

“You thought my fingers had breached your maidenhead?”

“Yes.”

“Not even The Mountain’s finger can reach that far inside. But did it hurt?” His heart raced, remembering how she’d thrashed and pumped against his hand. His cock stirred and he was grateful for the water. “Brienne, tell me the truth. Did I hurt you?”

“No, not really. Just felt. . .I don’t know. I wasn’t hurt. Just different.” There was a sweetness to her helplessness, in her voice. “I-I know your intentions are far from depraved. But it shouldn’t. . .it shouldn’t happen again.”

What she said made sense but an old pain, one that he refused to let consume him, welled up. “Because I’m the Kingslayer,” he said, voice tight with loathing. “The Kingslayer,” he repeated, wishing for some pride in the vow he’d broken to earn this hateful name. “Also no husband of yours. Do you think I’ve dishonored you?”

“Not-not for those reasons. No, you did not dishonor me.” she said, her voice small.

“Do you think me blind and deaf?” He tossed water her way and hated himself as soon as it was done but it was too late. He heard it slap her skin and her gasp. “You did not see what I see, you fool. There’s no hope of catching some sleep with your endless self-hating whispers and pathetic pleas for death. When will you get it through your thick skull you can’t save everyone?”

He waited for her to pummel him. Or to try drowning him. She would succeed this time. Her anger was preferable to thoughts of burying a knife in her throat. Death would be mercy to her. His stump ached from the hand it had lost, at the mercy it could bestow—but mercy he wished to have no part of.

“Podrick and Lady Catelyn—you’re a green knight still, wench. Fuck songs of glorious battles and honorable knights. They don’t exist. There’s hardly any difference between a knight and a sellsword. Even a common thief. They take lives because they have to. To save a life they have to take a life.”

“I didn’t take Pod’s but he died because I chose sword too late!”

“I flung the Stark boy from the tower and what became of the children? My cunt of a son food for worms, the other a piece of meat that will be torn apart by monsters in silks. The girl surrounded by hissing vipers. I killed Aerys to save my father and my brother murdered him anyway—the brother I saved.”

“I refuse to do a tally of the dead with you.”

“No, but you need reminding. Do you think if you forfeit your life there will be no more deaths? The world is cruel, Brienne. How can you still not know? Looking the way you do?”

He heard her arm break through the water and there was time to avoid her strike, but he took it. Her fist smacked his jaw and sent him falling. He held his breath falling into the water. Arms flailing, legs kicking against its great weight until his feet found rocks to stand on. He staggered up the surface coughing, spitting.

“Good of you,” he gasped, looking at the outline of her messy hair and broad shoulders. “How did it feel?”

“Do you expect my gratitude- _Jaime!_ ”

Her shriek probably echoed throughout the forest as he flung himself at her, the water powering his movements. She grunted as his chest slammed on hers. Gods there was relief pressed against her tits and being cradled with her hard thighs. The wrongness of it drew him closer. She tried wriggling free, her cunt rubbing his cock and their hairs tangling. She was a lot stronger and her fingers threatened to render his shoulders into powder. He had to use every ounce of strength to keep her pressed on the rocks.

She was not fevered but deprived of sleep, hardly in any shape to throw him off. Her movements easing, she could only blow one outraged plume of air after another on his face. He relished this sweet victory, momentary as it was.

“The Stranger is never far, wench,” he rasped against her ear. He knew the rocks were cutting in the skin of her back but perhaps this pain would remind her of the idiocy of her wish. “Most people try to lose him but you long for him.” He fisted her wet hair and yanked, pleased at her startled yelp. “How could you after everything you’ve survived?”

A quick, hard shake of her head loosened his hold. Between them, his cock hardened and poked at her stomach. He should move. But didn’t. _Couldn’t._

“Would you rather the boy lives?” He hated that he was pleading to her—to her of all people. It was too much like begging Cersei to choose him and tell the world of it. “You and I know how to use sword and fists, yet each day is a fight to stay alive. Death is a gift for the boy.”

His head fell on her shoulder then. His arms loosened from around her waist. He waited for her to push him away, to stalk off and leave him cold. Instead she let out a soft little sob—a sound that was now familiar to him.

“I shall not refuse that gift,” she whispered. “Especially at your hand. It is what I wish.” 

“Fall upon Oathkeeper, you fool. I save maidens, not murder them.”

His arms returned around her waist. The water made her light, buoyant, and she floated closer to his embrace. As he felt her throat’s tremors from the sobs she still fought to contain, her arms closed around his shoulders.

“Brienne.” His fingers fluttered back to her face, reluctantly urging her away from him so he could look at her. It was too dark to see, but he felt her. He felt all of her. He smelled the smoked rabbit from supper in her breath.

And, he found out a breath later, she tasted of it too.

The dark was no hardship in finding her mouth and taking it. Her lips were thick and slick with tears, and with a wide mouth that opened immediately as his kiss firmed. There was no confidence in her kissing, nor coyness. Rather there were many gasps as she had yet to master breathing through a kiss, and she slobbered in response instead of licking his tongue back. Jaime kept kissing her, oddly thrilled by her inexperience, her awkwardness. He thought to tease with a playful nibble of her lower lip. She bit him quite hard, drawing blood.

His hand wrapped around her nape, anchoring her for a harder, more demanding kiss. He didn’t know if her heart galloped as wildly as his. Kissing was not new to him but experiencing it without the need to rush, without fear, was an experience he did not realize was possible until this very moment.

With Brienne.

She seemed to melt against him. She was all angles and sinew but her skin. Soft. So soft, even the raised scars. Her mouth. Plump. Meaty. Wet. She whispered she couldn’t breathe, that she might drown. He hid his smile by kissing the scars on her cheek, down her neck.

_“Jaime.”_

He kissed her chin then her throat again, tucking hand and stump under her arms to lift her. She gasped in surprise and then made a wanton, lewd sound when his lips claimed one of her puckered nipples. She tasted of sweat and water.

He waited for her to pull at his head, to tell him to stop. Instead, she cradled him to her tits. He opened his mouth wider to take the entire little mound.

“I shouldn’t-Jaime, we shouldn’t—” she stammered. He groaned, reluctantly freeing her nipple. She hugged him.

“I have no right to pleasure. No right to feel so alive—like I do when you hold me like this.” She sounded ashamed.

“Punishing yourself will never bring the dead back. Not your mother. Lady Catelyn. Renly. Podrick.”

“I am no knight.” She sounded more broken than before. Jaime grabbed her by the chin and kissed her firmly.

“You’re more of a knight than I’ll ever be,” he admitted. “If the word of a Kingslayer and oathbreaker is to be believed.”

“I’ve lost any will to believe, Jaime. To have anything resembling faith. Nothing that could be called life.”

He kissed her again. And again. She moaned, moving her head to the side to end the kiss. He sighed and rested his forehead on her cheek. “You speak and kiss and you say you have nothing that could be called life?”

“Jaime—”

“You only have to swim to fall on Oathkeeper. I can’t stop you. You know I can’t. But if you choose to stay with me, you’ll have to tell me how you can start believing again.” He wished for light so he could look in her eyes. “Tell me how to keep you alive, wench. _Tell me._ ” 

He felt her quiver, heard her gasp. Thinking her cold, he was about to suggest getting out of the water when she suddenly took his hand and pulled it underwater.

They sighed, lips finding each other as she pressed his hand to her cunt.

She widened her legs, and he helped her keep the position by hooking one of them on his arm. She was open, soft and unresisting from the push of his finger. As their mouths continued to kiss wetly, loudly, his finger settled deeply in the warmth of her cunt. She was tight but rocked against his hand.

Everything should feel wrong. He was confronted by it at every turn—meat and dry breath from her tongue instead of cloves, the lingering stink of sweat rather than lavender, a heavy, corded leg instead of a slim, graceful limb draped on his arm. The thick hairs of her cunt that were rough even in water.

For everything of her that was not Cersei, he wanted more. The aftertaste of smoked meat from her mouth that made his head swim. The wide, firm chest framing little tits. Her cunt that was a plump pouch of honey. She broke away from their kiss, catching her breath once again. He rested his chin on her shoulder, licking the droplets of water from her skin. Her hands clung to his shoulders, his ass, her touch surprisingly light and gentle. Underwater, his fingers fucked her and played with her button.

Deprived of sight in the dark, he felt her stiffen then tremble upon finding release. Honey poured on his hand and right then he knew never to fuck her like this in the water. He curled and twisted his fingers in her cunt as she fell apart, glorying in her throaty grunts and growls. He kept his fingers inside her for several moments following her crash.

Brienne lifted her head from his shoulder and leaned against the rocks. Jaime reluctantly left the clinging clutch of her and quickly brought his fingers to her mouth. Honey and the metallic note of blood. He licked them clean, wishing so much he could see her watching him.

Pulling her away from the rocks and into his arms, he whispered, “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head weakly.

“Are you sure? I tasted blood.”

“Why would you do that?” She sounded shocked.

“You’ve had my seed, so why should I not taste you?” When she didn’t answer, he smiled. “Come. Let’s get out of here.”

Upon reaching the shore, Brienne went for their clothes, but Jaime caught her hand. She looked confused yet followed him back to the camp. He put her hand on his stump. On the way, he picked up some pieces of wood on the way in an effort to control the heady rush of an anticipated fuck coursing through his veins.

He let Brienne go in order to feed more wood into the steady golden fire she’d started before the swim. He looked at her through the flames, for once not wishing for an emerald gaze meeting his. His gaze lingered on clear sapphire pools before taking in her scarred body that was warrior and woman.

It should be wrong. It should repulse him.

Brienne blushed and covered her tits with a large hand, her cunt with the other. Jaime smirked then turned away to drag a bed roll from the tent.

“Are we not—’” Confused again, she glanced behind her, toward the river where they had left their clothes and armor by the trees. She turned back to see Jaime going back to the tent to take the second bed roll.

“Why can’t we—Jaime, why not inside the tent? What if we’re seen?”

“Forget who might see us. I want to see you.”

As he placed the bed rolls side by side, she asked very softly, “Are you going to fuck me?”

He paused and straightened up. There was no fear in her eyes. Only curiosity. He cleared his throat. “Do you want me to?”

She looked at her big feet. “I don’t know.”

“You won’t get my cock unless you ask.” It was ridiculous saying it, what with his cock hard and pointing right at her. “And you can tell me where you want it.”

“Where else could I possibly want it?”

“Come now, sweetling. You’ve been around men. Did you not see them with whores?”

Her face flared red. “Once or twice. But I didn’t see cocks going anywhere else. . .but where they should go.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “And here I thought they’d have some imagination. Your mouth would make a good orifice for my cock, for one.”

She swallowed.

“It’s true. And there is no man who will turn down a mouth that would warm his cock for the night. You’ve heard of buggery? Don’t lie, wench. Renly was hardly discreet.”

“It’s—it’s an abomination.”

“I’ve not tried it,” he admitted. “But whores seem to like it too. Loras certainly did.”

He shouldn’t be talking about the man she had been cow-eyed for a long time. She must still be. He waved that thought aside, although he wasn’t pleased. What was new? Cersei’s husband but in name. Renly but in face and body. He didn’t really care. He just wanted one thing.

“Come and lay down, Brienne.”

She hesitated then approached the bed rolls. She looked at him then slowly lay down on her side. He stretched out beside her, caressing her back. “I will not take your maidenhead, but I need to know if you want me enough to have more of what I did in the river. If you wish to sleep instead there will be no argument from me.”

She shook her head. “I’m scared of sleeping. When I do I still see it. I never stop seeing it except—”

She sighed and he brushed his knuckles up and down her spine. Her ass pressed against his cock. “Tell me.”

“The night you taught me about going away inside. And just a while ago. When you touched me. I don’t deserve any pleasure, especially one that unseats my joy at beating an opponent in a melee. But I know once I fall asleep I will see them again. Podrick. Lady Catelyn. Even Hyle.” She turned to him, her eyes pleading and watery. “Touch me so they won’t haunt me, Jaime. _Please_. But I don’t want to go away inside.”

She looked close to tears again. He easily turned her on her back, pausing a moment to revel in getting her so given her size and bulk before spreading her legs. Then he mouthed her cunt.

A sound between a whimper and a croak drifted from her lips. Thighs closed around his head and he had to shoulder them out of the way, greedy for another feast of her. She was wet from the river and her release. Sticky. Her curls tickled his nose and he scented the trace of her moonblood. She tasted of it too.

She was wrong. Taste. Smell. Feel. But he was led by his tongue. And helpless from everything about her that shook from the roots everything he thought a woman should be. Her grunts, the loud, rough groans he thought only belonged in a melee, in a battle, hardened his cock to the point of searing, almost blinding ache. His lips clamped on her button, pulling it roughly. She screamed, jerking against his face as her release filled his mouth.

While she lay spread-eagled and panting in the aftermath, he furiously rubbed himself. He stared at her hard nipples, the old claw marks on her skin, the sheen of her bush then her eyes. She was watching him, big teeth biting her lip, uncertain and curious about what he was doing. He could only take glimpses of her, knowing that to take all of her in would leave his discipline in shreds.

Because as torturously hard as he was, he had never felt anything as good.

“Jaime, should I—”

Her voice did it. His name in that oddly shy, husky tone. He cried out as the first jet of his seed hit her thigh. Head falling back and his back arching, he directed the rest of his squirt on her stomach.

They lay looking at each other for a while in the fading light of the fire. She will only be almost a beauty, almost a knight, and there was nothing he wished to change, he thought, staring at the scar on her cheek, the raised marks the bear had left on her neck. Her eyes were gold-tinged sapphires, an innocent gaze on a face ravaged so harshly and aged at least ten years.

It wasn’t right for someone like her to see the things she’d seen. To have done the things she had. It gnawed his heart knowing she had broken in so many pieces for his vows. _His fucking honor._

So he kissed her again, feeling himself close to tears as her mouth parted under him, accepting him without question. He kissed every scar and bruise, drawing a choked sob or a gasp from her. He suckled from her nipples as if to draw milk but found salt and woman, nuzzled the crinkly hairs under her arms before resting his mouth on her cunt again. There he drank the heady cocktail of sweat, cotton, leather and moonblood. Her moan was heartfelt, a robust, rich sound no whore could echo. He spilled on her tits this time, and just before the fire died, glimpsed his seed striping her swollen nipples.

Without the fire it was soon too cold. The bedrolls and the warmth of their bodies were no match for it. This time she helped put them back in the tent. Again they lay together, facing each other, mapping some more the curves and thrusts of muscle and length of bone, the curl of hairs and raised bumps of scars through touch and kisses. A lot of kisses. He quaked from the tentative brush of her lips on his chest, when she wrapped them around his flat nipple in imitation of the kiss he had given her there.

He thought after some more kisses, and her calloused hands caressing his stomach and hips slumber would descend. Fucking was sweeter than any lullaby, more potent than milk of the poppy. But he was afire from her whisper-soft, maidenly kisses, the weight of her heavy body that threatened to crush him. The scent of sweat and leather, even the faint note of horse and sun from her skin was a strange perfume that drove him to take deep whiffs until he was close to intoxicated. When her fingers fluttered toward his cock then brushed his hard length, he turned his head and groaned against what felt to be her shoulder.

“How do I touch you, Jaime?”

“No different than you would a sword,” he managed to say as she cupped his balls. She squeezed them a little too hard and he whined, his hand stopping her. “ _Ah._ Here. Let me show you.”

She was quick to learn, and he was half-mad with lust and tension as she moved his foreskin up and down his cock in the languid, measured pace he preferred. It would be a while before her touches would be masterful but if the gods were merciful, if the Stranger could forget his name long enough for him to live and know what that would be like, he was ready to give up everything. Everything but her, the scorned and unfortunate beauty of Tarth. The daughter no father deserved. The maiden even the lowliest peasant would refuse. His choice.

It was a long night of pleasure, only shadowed by the memory of another night long ago in Eel Alley. When he pulled Brienne for another taste of her mouth, he knew nothing else but the warmth and press of her, her nipples rustling against his chest hairs and his cock nudging at her wet folds.

“Are you tired?” He asked, blinking from the tickle of the rough tendrils of her hair on his eyelashes. His hand climbed to her cheek, finding it smooth and warm.

“I don’t want to sleep.”

“Do you want to keep kissing me?”

The sudden warmth of her cheek against his palm was answer enough. He so wished to see her. A tender smile breaking across his face, he whispered, “Alright. Keep kissing me. But turn the other way this time.”

“J-Jaime?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” Her answer was swift. Breathless.

“As I do you. Turn around. I want to kiss you too.” When she didn’t move, he stroked her hair. “It’s alright if you don’t want to.”

He should slow down. Until six days ago, she had never even touched herself—nor been touched and kissed. Tonight he’d given her kisses sung only in taverns where water dripped from the ceiling and the serving wenches hefty, meaty women stinking of grease and ale. She was willing, very willing, and eager and a fresh breeze tinged with leather, steel and horses. But she was a maiden. She did not even know about cocks fucking mouths until he told her.

“Jaime, I—” she paused then said, “I wish—I _hope_ to please you. In return for what you’ve done. . .for me.” Her cheek warmed again.

“You do. But do you like what I’ve been doing to you? Speak the truth.”

“Are you—are you going to fuck me now?”

Her question should not surprise him, since she’d asked earlier. As he thought of an answer, her fingers traced down the flat, hard plane of his stomach, before carefully taking his cock. Even in the dark he felt the size of her hand. For all its callouses, scars and cuts, he was held with a gentleness that should only be for something fragile. Like a dove.

He held his breath feeling her thumb circle the swollen head of his cock. He closed his eyes in a futile attempt for control as she tentatively rubbed the foreskin up and down his cock. The darkness behind his eyes was the same as the darkness when they were open, but he felt her more.

Gods. _So much more._

Opening his eyes, blinking at the dark, he whispered, “Not now.”

Her hand stilled. Knowing where her thoughts went, he spoke in a breathless rush, “You should be fucked in the light, Brienne. Sunlight or candlelight.”

“I have no wish to be different. All women are the same in the dark.”

He sighed. “No. Not you.”

Her breath ruffled his hair, his beard. He turned to her, again wishing to see her. “You are not for darkness, Brienne. I know you disagree, and I’ve been called a fool so many times that there must be truth to it but trust me when I say you don’t belong in darkness.”

As he spoke, she had begun to touch him again. He came apart in her hand with a groan rather than a cry. As he lay limp and weak in the aftermath, he heard her move. Heard her move away from his side, allowing a wall of cool air to touch him. Then he felt the first press of her lips on his stomach, the tentative flick of a tongue on his navel. He held his breath as the hairs of her head brushed his hips, her nipples brushing his thighs. She exhaled, stirring the curls around his cock.

He must be dreaming. Her mouth wrapping around his cock told he was wide awake.

Her mouth and tongue didn’t venture past the head. She grasped him in both hands, one making gentle twisting motions as the other worked his foreskin up and down the shaft. The entire time her mouth clung to the slick, bulbous tip, flicking a tongue at it at the span of every three breaths or two. He listened to her slobber and swallow.

She was awkward. Graceless. Grunted rather than moaned. Kissed and licked the tip rather than devouring all of him. How many times had Cersei taken, appeased him like this? She was always sure. Knowing when to lick. How to moan. Taught him to the touch he should like. How many times had he watched her fill her ruby mouth with his cock, stunning in her jewel-encrusted golden curls, on bent knees in her velvet, lace-trimmed gowns? He was born to be lord of the Rock but only felt it when he was wrapped in her mouth.

He did not feel like the Warrior or the Kingslayer in Brienne’s mouth. He was not even Jaime Lannister, whoever that was. He just knew he was alive.

He was quick to harden despite having just had a release. And he came quicker, knowing he’d startled Brienne from her gasp, her croaked gagging then panicked gulping before gagging again. She struggled to swallow. The rest of his seed wetted her shoulder. His stump and hand found her hair, her ear as her head fell on his thigh. She hugged his leg, trembling.

“See,” he panted. “You are unlike anyone. The sun should shine on you.”

“You are the sun’s son,” she said after several moments of quiet. She smacked her lips loudly.

Then he felt and heard her move, grinning when she carefully slipped her leg between his. Somehow, he managed to find her hand and clasp it, keeping it on his heart. She was heavy on his chest and slowly crushing his hip, but she was warm and had a softness that was surprising and intriguing. Her cunt was wet against his thigh, the hairs a pleasing, rough tickle. Their breaths kissed their lips, cheeks.

“Why me?” He asked suddenly. “Why do you wish to spread your legs for me, Brienne?”

“I trust you.” The firmness in her voice, soft as it was, caused something in him to give way. Her nose bumped his cheek. “No one else.”

Then they were kissing again. Who initiated, he didn’t know. All that mattered was her sweet sigh warming his tongue, her fat lips a pleasing cushion for the harder kisses he gave her. She tasted of his seed and innocence. In the dark her mouth was hotter than the sun.

He climbed on top of her, feathering kisses down her throat, pulling her nipples in his mouth, brushing his lips down her long, hairy legs. Even kissed the arch of her foot, then the other. His stump was beginning to cramp but he didn’t stop. Instead he sank his tongue in the wine of her cunt. She was a feast, here-the plump folds, the fat meat of her button. Her smell. The copious stream of her juices.

He pressed his face on her cunt, his tongue parting the folds to taste all of her. Wanting more, his fingers thumbed her open and he pushed his tongue as deeply as it could go. Her quivers and strangled grunts told what she liked, what she wanted more of, and it was always more of the same thing and everything he wished to do to her cunt.

He must have passed out—both of them, he realized, raising his head from her thighs. Because he was still drunk from the taste and smell of her and his head still heavy from sleep, he didn’t hear her crying right away. As the painfully familiar sounds of her distress punched through the haze, he grunted her name. She sobbed for forgiveness. The Stranger.

He kissed her cheek, then her lips, trying to rouse her from another nightmare. She thrashed, her movements weak and heavy but constant. “Brienne,” he begged, trying to shake her. When she whimpered the boy’s name, mumbled, “Sword, sword, sword,” he knew what had to be done.

Desperately, he pushed his fingers in her cunt, willing this intimate touch to bring her awake. Back to this life, shit as it was.

“Brienne.” He hated the helplessness in his voice. Curling his fingers in her dripping cunt, his thumb rotating her button roughly, he pleaded, “Come back to me. You have to come back to me. _Please.”_

He fucked her, raining kisses all over her face to fight off the evils plaguing her sleep. He had to kick her legs wide open, bracing a hard knee on the bedroll. He hooked two fingers in her cunt next, finding a well of honey inside. As she sobbed for Podrick and Lady Catelyn, he clamped his lips on her, kissing her furiously, wishing to turn her anguished cries to that of pleasure and desire. Her body was hard, stiff despite the shakes.

She was not only dreaming, he realized, chilled. She was reliving it.

“Brienne!” He shouted now. Refusing to slip his fingers out of her, he slammed his stump on her cheek. He gasped in pain and she shrieked, the tremors in her body coming to an immediate end. He didn’t give her time to catch her breath, quickly pushing a tongue in her mouth to drive every dark memory from her mind. _All_ memories of pain and suffering.

She moaned and kissed him back, hands pulling at his hair, digging in the taut skin of his shoulders and back. A leg bent and cuddled his hand. He fucked her faster.

She screamed throatily, arching sharply against his hand. He panted against the arc between her sweaty neck and shoulder, the entire length of his fingers sunk deep in her cunt. She squeezed and pulled him deeper, and he heard her feet pounding the bedroll, heels scraping as her release swept through her like fire.

Slowly, she calmed down, dropping back on the bedroll with a thud. He licked the sweat from her neck, sucked her nipples clean all while keeping his fingers in her cunt. She was sobbing as he licked her nipple, moaning his name through her tears. He kissed back up to her mouth and she breathed his name before pulling him down. Her kisses had the touch of practice now although still very wet and capped with eagerness.

“When will it stop, Jaime?” She whimpered as he cradled her like a babe. He never held any of his children but the care it required came to him naturally, with her. She pressed her face to his chest, her lips tugging at his nipple. “I’ll go mad without sleep. And madder when I do it.”

He kissed her sweaty forehead, not knowing what else to say. He couldn’t lie to her.

“Stay with me?” She sounded like a child. An unsure child bracing for disappointment. “Jaime, will you please stay with me?”

“I am yours, Brienne.”

Refusing to relinquish his hold, he reached under their bodies for the blanket. She helped him, murmuring he should lie down too. He kissed her in answer and dragged it high over her shoulders. His back would ache, and his legs would cramp but he really didn’t want to let her go.

As Kingsguard he had failed to protect Rhaella from Aerys’ abuse, and endured Robert’s animalistic groans while fucking another whore. The white cloak, soiled just from touching him, had been in tatters and drowned in Catelyn Stark’s black blood deep in the forest. His name would be stripped from the White Book, he thought, given what he’d done. He was dead to Cersei, and if she had somehow survived, would call for his head to make sure.

He was a man with no House, no name. Not even vows. All he had was a scarred, ravaged maiden. He should rage at the injustice of it. Instead, all he wanted was to protect her from guilt and pain. He didn’t need his sword hand for that.

Nor did he have any need for grand pronouncements that he was someone’s choice. Remembering he’d justified what he had thought was love in the footsteps of the Targaryens almost banished the lingering, potent kick of Brienne’s cunt. 

Cersei would always have a hold on him. And for that, he wished to stay away. Disappear, if someone like him still knew of prayer and one of the Seven was listening. His House could disappear. He smirked, then dropped it quickly as Brienne turned in his arms. He stole a kiss from her slack lips.

At some point in the night, he fell next to her body. In sleep he still reached for her, pressing against her back and wrapping an arm and leg around her. It seemed the ghosts of the dead knew better than to haunt her again, not with the Kingslayer at her side.

After some time, perhaps just a little before sunrise, he was awakened by the rustles of a big body moving on the bedroll.

He opened his eyes to find pale, gray light penetrating through the tent. Brienne was crawling away from. Given with the care in her movements she was trying not to wake him.

With a half-smile, he stared at the freckles splashed all over the backs of her thighs, and the dried tracks of his seed and her own release. Dark blond hairs peeking from the divide of her ass reminded him of the tangled forest in her front. She smelled of spit and sweat, moonblood. He breathed her in. Licked his lips. She was still on his tongue.

He thought she was going to leave to make water by the trees when she suddenly stopped. Then she raised her leg, throwing it over his chest to straddle him. Her cunt brushed the hairs of his chest as she bent. His eyes widened realizing what she was going to do. What he hoped she would do.

She did what he wanted.

He pressed his hand on his mouth, forming a fist to bite on as she licked his cock from shaft to tip. He struggled from squirming, from pushing himself into her mouth. She was doing what he wanted but he wished for her to do it as she wanted too. He felt her breath on his hardened flesh, he imagined her thick, pale eyebrows furrowed in thought.

Then she licked him again.

She grasped him by the root and mouthed him next, suckling wetly, loudly. Fearing he would spill on her face before he should, he took a deep breath then grabbed her hips. Her yelp of surprise was a delight but where he put his mouth next was a slice of Seven Heavens.

Bent over him like this, he saw and smelled all of her: the darkened musk on the crevice of her ass, from which a pink pucker peeked, the secret, inner flesh of her cunt that shone like silk and tasted of woman and warrior. As she sucked him languidly, he thrust his tongue back in her cunt, keeping her spread open with his hand and stump. She would never smell of roses nor taste like a bouquet of wildflowers, he thought, finding her button and dragging it between his lips. But for all her strange and unexpected smells, she was sweet, very sweet on the tongue. Potent, that’s what she was. A cunt to war on but only his.

_Mine._

He pushed himself toward her, groaning against her cunt when she took all of him in her mouth. Her tongue was wetter than any river, the roof of her mouth ridged in a way that made him harder. He fought off the urge to shout and come in her throat, not now, not now when her hips rocked on his face like she was riding a most spirited stallion. He rubbed his cheeks on her hairs, nudged her slit to spread open some more with finger and tongue.

He was almost wearing her cunt, intent on dragging her supple, meaty flesh over his cheeks, the gods willing. She moved, giving him the gift of air and some respite only to drag a yell from him when she slurped on one of his balls. He grunted, grabbed her again. As she noisily sucked him, he rubbed his nose against the pink pucker between the cheeks of her ass while drawing firmly, mercilessly, on her button.

She bested him, yet he felt no defeat as his cock spilled before her release. As the thick threads of his seed bathed her face, he ate her cunt like a beast finally unleashed from silk and decency. She shrieked, rolling her hips frantically, trying to wriggle free.

“Jaime— _Ser_ ,” she gasped. “It’s too much—gods—Jaime Jaime Jaime.”

He couldn’t answer. Not when he had a mouthful of wench. And when she finally came apart with a scream that could fell armies armed to the teeth, he swam in the rivulets of victory pouring out of her.

She was too weak to move and rest her head next to his. He crawled and plopped down next to her. It was getting warm. Sunrise would be soon. Sleepy sapphire eyes stared at him.

“I’m sore,” she murmured, curling her legs. He found her movements oddly sensual, even with all the hair, thick ankles and big, wide feet. “Did you fuck me?”

He shook his head. “You thrive on outdoing yourself, it seems.”

She blushed and he saw the hint of a smile. It wasn’t pretty. But he couldn’t help but smile back. “I had to remind myself several times last night you’re a maiden still.”

“I don’t feel like one.” She suddenly sighed and yawned. “Do you think. . .would you permit me to close my eyes for a while? My legs seemed to have abandoned me. Among other body parts.”

He chuckled. She had never made a jape before. Or said anything close to it. He was about to remark on it but found her asleep. Soon, she was snoring. He pulled the blanket high on her shoulders and joined her in sleep.

For all her claims of being betrayed and abandoned by her limbs, Jaime was pleased to wake and find Brienne’s head between his thighs, her tongue already hard at work. The flap of the tent had been pushed aside, allowing a wall of sunlight inside. He was tired too—he could barely feel his legs and the rest of his body except for his cock. Hard and pulsating, it bobbed into her mouth.

This time he tapped her on the shoulder as he felt himself about to come. Brienne let his cock with a wet plop. Eyes looking very blue and big, her lips swollen and red, she panted, “Are you displeased?”

Confused by her concern, it took him a moment to understand. “Jaime? Did I—”

He grunted, spine arching off the bedroll as his seed squirted from his cock and toward her. Her voice had done it again. He fisted the blanket, glimpsing her scarred face, her blue eyes before squeezing his eyes shut. Then as quickly as it happened, he found himself limp and falling heavily back on the bedroll. When he opened his eyes, Brienne was wiping her face with the cuff of her shirt.

“Jaime?”

His cock was empty for now, but he swore he felt it twitch hearing his name in her voice. Feeling drunk, he looked at her. For the first time, the sun wasn’t too cruel.

“You learn fast,” was all he could say. “No wonder you’re more than adept with the sword.”

She blushed then joined him on the bedroll. He touched the collar of her shirt. “Must we leave soon?”

She didn’t answer. She put her head on his chest instead, burrowing against it like a kitten although her movements were far from gentle and weak. He wrapped his arms around her. Had he ever held Cersei like this?

“I’ll go wherever you wish,” she said softly. “If you’ll have me, Jaime.”

Her words were moving but he couldn’t completely revel in them. Though still unsaid and he refused for it to bloom even in his mind, he knew these were vows she should not make. Not to him. He stroked her hair for a while instead. She didn’t press him.

When the sun was high, they left the tent. Jaime took a moment to stare at Brienne clad only in her shirt, bare from her cunt down. She didn’t move with the knowing slyness of a woman who’d been bedded—or almost bedded, in her case. She still wore her sweet innocence. He watched as she crouched next to the makeshift spit that held two pieces of perfectly roasted fish.

He found their clothes folded by the tent, and their armors and swords resting against it. His golden hand was on top of her clothes. He slipped on his shirt first, then breeches. After putting on the boots, which was a harder battle than removing them, he put his hand next to the armor and picked up her breeches and boots. He found her smallclothes too. They were clean now though slightly damp. He walked over to Brienne, offering her the clothes.

“Where do we go next?” She asked, taking the bundle from him.

She inspected her smallclothes, squeezing some of the water from it before shrugging and deeming it was alright enough to wear. Jaime watched her climb into them, breathing shallowly as she pulled it up her long legs then toward her thick thighs. His eyes resting on her thick, dirty-blond bush, the seed of an idea he’d refused to acknowledge began to grow.

She stepped into her breeches next.

“Nowhere,” he answered. “Nowhere near where our vows say we should go. We go where we desire instead, as far away from them as possible.”

He dared to meet her eyes. Sure enough, he saw the question there.

“What do you mean?”

Yes. Indeed the sun was not cruel today. It almost seemed to love her, he thought. But there was still that awful scar, the worst she had and what he hoped was the last. It was a fucking gamble to think that way, given that the Father had barely protected her from monsters. Who was he, a one-handed oathbreaker, to protect her? Could he?

There was no heroism in dying, even in battle. But his life was hers.

Of all the wrongs he had committed, he knew he would be at peace knowing he did this one right thing. For her.

“Brienne of Tarth,” he began. “I release you from your vows.”

Her mouth fell open. He got down on one knee. The sun warmed him like a cloak.

“As gratitude for your sacrifices, I will shield your back and keep your counsel. Give my life for yours if need be. The gods will never hear the prayers of an oathbreaker such as I, but I swear it by the old gods and new.”

She shook her head. “Jaime. Jaime, please—”

“You are released from your vows and my life is yours,” he said firmly. She wisely kept her mouth shut but it was clear she had a lot to say. _Stupid stubborn wench. The gods know why I bother._

He knew why. He had known for sometime. The truth had been unbearable. Now. . .now not so but he still couldn’t speak of it. There were still ripples following the shock of it.

“But if I could ask for one more favor from you,” he continued, looking in her eyes. She would probably hate what he’d done but he knew he was right. “It is that you remain at my side. Will you, Brienne? Will you stay with me?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Back to studying!


End file.
